100 Moments: River Song and the Doctor
by Muffintine
Summary: [discontinued] 100 stolen moments for River Song and the Doctor. Fanfic100 challenge response. Current Prompt: "Touch."
1. Death

**Warnings:** Spoilers for Forest of the Dead.  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: Don't own it, never will.  
><strong>Word count:<strong> 449

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><p><strong>030. Death<strong>

"Once in a while, right in the middle of an ordinary life, love gives us a fairy tale. "

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><p>Her death.<p>

The Doctor's death.

Neither frightened her.

After all, in the end, everyone dies.

"_But I do think that all the skies of all the worlds might just turn dark if he ever, for one moment, accepts it."_

And it's funny, thinking of it now, that the Doctor always knew how she would meet her end. That she would sit in this chair and take the charge for him. That she would handcuff him to a pipe and let the tears flow freely from her eyes as he frantically reached for his screwdriver. And it's easy, in this last minute of her life, to believe that all their time together had been because of guilt. His guilt for not being able saving her.

It's _so_ him–so the man she loves–to be this infuriating.

But then she remembers his face—his stupidly handsome face—with a new haircut and suit. And the tears. The tears she couldn't quite understand.

Her Doctor.

Time and space.

All of their time together. All the pain and heartbreak. The things they said—_will_ say. Monsters that need to be defeated. Sins that have been committed and beauty that has been discovered. All of these wonderful, horrible things have brought her here on this day. The day of her death. Still…

Still.

She wouldn't change it for the universe.

Not if it meant losing all that time with her impossible man. The oldest, the kindest, the last of his kind. A man who defies time and space itself. Who acts like such a child but has more wisdom than even he cares to admit. A man who belongs to no one—not even to her. Who changes his face and is completely and utterly ridiculous.

The Doctor.

She looks to his younger self— the man who does not know her—and he is crying, pulling against those handcuffs, hating her for taking his place. And she laughs through her tears. She'd been right, after all.

"_The day's coming when I'll look into that man's eyes, my Doctor, and he won't have the faintest idea who I am. And I think it's going to kill me."_

She connects the ends, there is a jolt of electricity and then there is nothing.

"_Now and then, every once in a very long while, every day in a million days, when the wind stands fair and the Doctor comes to call..."_

Her eyes open.

She's dressed in white and surrounded by the greenest grass she's ever seen. With a turn of her head, she looks behind her and watery smile takes to her lips.

There, walking towards her, are her once dead friends.

"…_everybody lives." _

_Fin._

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><p><strong>Notes:<strong> Beta'd by **MuslimBarbie**. This is the first of 100 prompts that I will be writing centered on and around the relationship of River song with the many regenerations of the Doctor she encounters. Will be updated erratically, sometimes with two or more each update.

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	2. What?

**Warnings**: Spoilers up to Forest of the Dead.  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: Don't own it, never will.  
><strong>Word<strong> **count**: 1,452

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><p><strong>077. What?<strong>

"Memory is a way of holding onto the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose."

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><p>They are laying on a field of pillow flowers, hands intertwined, bodies pressed together. They stare up at the sky, soaking in the clear blue view of a cloudless night. It's spring time on Pillowtraxcy and the air is cool and refreshing against their skin. Neither of them speaks. They don't need to, really. Not now. Not in this rare moment of peace. Their hearts beat in tandem as they listen to the spring bees sing and the willow birds hum. It's a perfect evening for the Doctor and River Song.<p>

At his side, the Doctor feels River fidget and he risks a sidewards glance at her, only to find she's already staring up at him. "Yes, sweetie?"

He shifts awkwardly and looks away. "Are you, ah, comfortable?" he asks, scratching nervously at his right cheek.

Her laugh is muffled against his side. "Always."

This sort of soft, quiet intimacy is sort of, well, _new_ to the Doctor. He's a man who is constantly running. Constantly righting all the wrongs in the universe (and trust him, there are quite a few). But laying quietly next to a woman gives him a feeling of anxiety. Sure, his past selves have had their good fun, but not him. No, not him. Not this him. Not the him now. He wants to open his mouth–babble on about unimportant things–even if just to distract himself from how _warm_ she is. How _good _it feels when his skin touches hers. He knows she won't mind–if he babbles, that is–she never does.

But something stops him. He isn't sure what it is, but a small voice in the back of his head–one that sounds conveniently like _her_–whispers for him to just shut up and enjoy the moment. Bask in it. So he does. He shuts his mouth for once and simply listens to the sound of her breathing. Of his. There is a tightness in his chest that isn't quiet painful and he realizes quite suddenly that it's anticipation. But what, exactly, is he anticipating? What could be possibly be anticipating? He hasn't the faintest idea.

It is River who breaks the rambling of his thoughts. "Sweetie," she begins. Shifts at his side and props herself up by her elbow so she can stare down at him. Her expression is soft and contemplative and he finds his hearts speeds up as she looks at him with those all-knowing eyes. She reaches up and caresses his cheek. "You're awfully quiet tonight," she teases. "I didn't even have to kiss you to get you to shut up."

Despite himself, the Doctor smiles a silly little smile. "You like it when I talk a lot."

River smiles and chuckles a bit. "Confident, are we?"

"Very." _No_.

Because that's the thing. He isn't confident. Not really. Not this time. Not when it comes to River Song. She knows everything about him and he means _everything_. Even things he doesn't even know about himself yet. He doesn't know how she meets him for the first time or what makes her so fond of him. It hasn't happened yet. Not for him at least. And that's the funny thing about time and space: it can be rewritten. Changed. Very little is written in stone. There are fixed points in time. River and he, however, are not part of those fixed points. Their relationship is a paradox and so very, _very_ fragile.

She pats him on the cheek as if she _knows_. "Is that so?" She smiles to herself as if she's thinking of sort of private joke. Then River looks up at the sky, stares at it for a moment, and looks back at him. "You know," she says, "somewhere out there, amongst time and space, I'm meeting you for the first time." A sad little smile reaches her lips for the briefest of moments. "And the last time."

Without thinking about it, the Doctor reaches forward, and brings River's lips to meet his. The kiss is awkward and ill timed, but he doesn't care. Because he _knows_ how he meets River Song for the last time. He knows how she takes his place. How she is dies before his eyes. He knows how his past self treated her and he's seen the rejection in her eyes from the man who had promised her everything. All of time and space. So he kisses her with feeling, with all the things he could never say (Or does he say them? Will he say them? Because he doesn't even know.) But he wants _her_ to _know_. He wants her to remember that even if she meets him and he doesn't know it yet, he cares for her. A lot. A lot a lot. A lot more than he cares to admit, actually.

They break apart and there's a rush of harsh breathing and flushed cheeks. "What was that for?" she asks, before she grins cheekily. "Not that I'm complaining."

He kisses her again, lightly, quickly. "Because."

River snorts. "You never do anything just '_because'_," she accuses. Rightly so, too.

"I do too!" he retorts, childlike pout taking to his lips. It doesn't last long and he laughs and slides his hand through her curls.

"Mmhm," she hums, rolling her eyes.

"So, Dr. Song—"

"_Professor_ Song," she interrupts, grinning like the mad woman she is. "Of archeology, in fact."

He freezes and his blood runs cold. The world stops spinning, the universe stops moving, and–for a moment–everything stills. He swallows and forces himself not to react. He won't let her know of the fear that pulses through him or the sorrow that is pulling at his hearts and ripping them into tiny, _tiny_ pieces. He won't. He _can't_. "What?" he asks, the question barely a whisper.

River's silent a moment. "I'm a professor now, Doctor," she says and gives him a funny little look. "What? No congratulations?"

"Right. Yes. Of course. Congratulations," he murmurs. It sounds empty, even to him.

"What's the matter with you?" she asks, but he doesn't dare look at her. He's scared–genuinely scared–that she will see it in his eyes. The knowledge that her death is soon. Too soon. And he can't let her know–can't take away her happiness. No, not now. Not ever.

He shoves down the sorrow and despair. Stuffs them in the deepest darkest corner of his heart. Locks them away and throws out the key. "Nothing," he says, all smiles again. "Nothing at all. _Really_, River, congratulations."

She gives him that _I-don't-believe-a-word-you-just-said-you-silly-man _stare of hers. But she doesn't force answer out of him. "That tart Stackman Lux finally got his head out of his backside and approved an expedition to The Library, though he's making us sign these _awful_ silence agreements—" River frowns and whacks him on the head. "Are you even listening to me?"

But he isn't listening because she's said the very words he hoped would come later. Much, _much_ later. The Library. Expedition. Stackman. His mind spins fast with flashes of color and images he hoped he'd forget one day. Except he doesn't forget.

He _never_ forgets.

Not completely.

Not ever.

"Ah, yes. Yes, of course," he replies quickly—too quickly. "Fine, just—fine."

"Oh? I think you're lying." Her gaze is pensive. "What are you hiding?"

His smile is tight. "Spoilers," he mummers.

River nods, understanding. "Ah, well, no one wants to be the bearer of bad news, I suppose," she sends him a sly smile. "At least tell me it's exciting."

His eyes find hers and he holds them for a long while. Finally he breaks his gaze and stares up at three-mooned-sky. "I better go."

River frowns and places her hand lightly on his chest. "So soon?"

Yes. Soon. Now. He needs get away from her; needs to escape. Think clearly. And stop himself. Stop himself from trying to stop _her_. Stop himself from telling her not to go. Because River—the future River—asked him not to. It was her last request–her dying one–and, really, how could he break a promise like that? "Yes," he replies, getting to his feet and facing away from her. He waits a beat. "When are you leaving?"

"Leaving?"

"To go to The Library."

"Oh," River breathes, "not for another few months."

He turns back slightly, looking down at her. "If you get into trouble," he hesitates, "give me a call."

River's smile is cheeky. "I always do." She sighs and rolls over. "Goodbye, sweetie," she whispers after him as he wades out of the field of pillow flowers and walks towards the TARDIS.

He glances at his screwdriver.

He has work to do.

_Fin._

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><p><strong>Ending Notes:<strong> Beta'd by **MuslimBaribe**, who saved this little fic from being an absolute disaster. She fixed my Eleven and made sure everything flowed beautifully. Thank you darling, I love you. c:

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	3. Choices

**Disclaimer:** Don't own, never will. **  
>Word count:<strong> 656  
><strong>NOTES: PLEASE READ.<strong> This fic contains young!River and the twelfth doctor, who I have made ginger. Just so you're not confused when reading. Enjoy. c:

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><p><strong>086. Choices<strong>

"In the long run, we shape our lives, and we shape ourselves. The process never ends until we die. And the choices we make are ultimately our own responsibility."

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><p>Her mind is racing.<p>

Her heart is pounding.

_Thu-Thump. Thu-Thump. Thu-Thump. _

Because there is the Doctor—her impossible man—and that ... _monster_ is holding him up against the wall, knife to his throat. He's talking, talking, talking even as the monster presses the knife closer and closer, digging in.

And she's afraid. So very, very afraid.

_Thu-Thump. Thu-Thump. Thu-Thump. _

Because this man–this stupid, _stupid_ man—he won't give up. He never gives up. He doesn't know the meaning of the word. And she's scared because one day it's going to kill him. But not today. No, not today. She is River Song, woman of his past, and she is _not_ going to let the Doctor die. Even if she has to do the impossible. Even if it makes him cross with her. She'll do anything, anything at all, as long as he keeps breathing. Keeps living to smile at her again.

She spies a gun across the room, abandoned on the floor.

_Thu-Thump. Thu-Thump. Thu-Thump. _

She doesn't think. She just does.

In a flash of movement she's thrown herself onto the floor, grabbed the gun and pointed it at the back of the monster's head. Her hands shake; she's never held a gun before. Never fired one. Never so much as looked at one. She swallows, catches the Doctor's eyes—sees the horror within them—and fires.

"NO!"

_Thu-Thump. Thu-Thump. Thu-Thump. _

River drops the gun as if it burned her, but her hands are still shaking. She killed something, something _alive_ and _breathing_ and _thinking_ and—

"River…" she hears the Doctor whisper. "What have you done?"

She looks up, tears bright in eyes. And she sees the Doctor—her ginger Doctor—covered in blue blood. But he's there. He's alive. And despite the cold knowledge that she killed a living creature, she's glad he's safe. She realises, a little belatedly, that she'd do it again in a heartbeat. "He was going to kill you," she whispers, gaze drifting to the warm, dead carcass.

"You don't _know_ that—"

"I do."

Because she does.

And maybe, just maybe, the Doctor doesn't.

He frowns, lips twisting downward into a dark scowl. "It wasn't your choice to make."

She almost wants to laugh. When has she ever had a choice in the matter? He showed up in her life all handsome and clever–and he knew every last thing about her. How could she not follow him? Fall in love with him? "Is anything really a choice when it comes to you, Doctor?" Her question isn't meant as an accusation, or to hurt him. It's the simple, bare truth.

"You always have a choice," he replies, kneeling down next to the dead creature, his eyes so sad, so miserable that he couldn't save that which would have killed him. He looks back at her, but his eyes aren't filled with hate or shame; they have a quiet sadness, an understanding. And River knows he knows. He knows why he keeps her around.

Because she has the ability to choose to do what he never could.

To take a life.

And it almost seems cruel that this responsibility lies with her, with River Song, but she cannot bring herself to hate him because of it.

"Doctor…" she begins, "you tell me stores–such wonderful stories–of the worlds you've saved, the people you've helped. How the universe needs you—because it does need you, you know. So how can you expect me, knowing all of this, let you die?"

The Doctor walks over and places a soft hand on her shoulder. He doesn't say anything for a long while, just looks at her. "You'll understand one day."

He walks off, leaving River with a gaping hole in her heart. Her eyes fall on the gun at her feet. She bends down, picks it up, and slips it in-between her waist and her belt.

She's made her choice.

_Fin_

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><p><strong>Notes<strong>: Beta'd by **MuslimBarbie**, as always.

Review?


	4. Touch

**Disclaimer**: Don't own, never will.  
><strong>Word<strong> **count**: 1,115

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><p><strong>038. Touch<strong>

"In rivers, the water that you touch is the last of what has passed and the first of that which comes; so with present time."

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><p><em>I love you.<em>

The three little words the Doctor will never say to her. Not ever. And it should bother her, but it doesn't. Not really. Because he shows her in other ways; ways that don't need the words or promises he knows he can't keep. He loves her in his own special way. She catches glimpses in of it his eyes or in the way his gaze lingers on her for a second too long. The way he distractedly threads his fingers through her curls while he babbles on about this and that. It's in the way he touches her—in those light touches, short and fleeting.

Because the Doctor does love her, she's sure of it.

But exactly how much, she may never know.

Still, his touches are not reserved for her—not just yet.

No, he loves Amy as well. It's a sort of quiet, fond love. A friend's love—but sometimes, River fears, something more. Because he gets that same look in his eye: the way he used to look at _her_. Proud and delighted and _loving_. He praises her, shouts at her brilliance and kisses her on the forehead. A simple gesture and, if you did not know the Doctor, a seemingly insignificant one.

But nothing is ever simple with him.

That is Amy Pond's special kiss.

Not hers. Never hers.

He never has, nor will he ever, kiss her on the forehead as he did—_does_—for Amelia Pond.

And, River finds, she is alright with that.

She's never been the jealous type, after all. The fact that there were others before her was never something the Doctor hid from her. She always knew and, in some ways, she thinks he told her to chase her off. He almost succeeded a couple of times too, but she could never really leave him. Not when he smiles at her and the happiness doesn't quite reach his eyes. She catches him sometimes, staring off into space with this lonely look to his eyes. However, when he sees that she's caught him, he smiles and starts off on a tangent about something or other that isn't important at all.

The Doctor never wants to show her his pain.

He never wants to show anyone.

So she touches him, in little ways, as he did for a younger her. Sometimes it's just a hand on his shoulder or pat on the back. Nothing especially spectacular or ground-breaking. Her touches are ordinary and frequent. Still, every time she touches him he tenses up for a fraction of a second before softening beneath her touch. Almost as if some of his stress is being alleviated.

It makes her feel as if she is helping, even if only in such a small way.

The day he leaves Amy, she can see it in his face, in his eyes and mannerism. He stumbles out of the TARDIS, drunk off some sort of alien wine, babbling away about grand adventure (_"Won't you come away with me, River Song? You and me! Time and Space!") _and defeating the bad guys (_"Nasty, nasty creatures out there, there are. Always up to no good. We should stop them. Me and you. You and me. Us. We should put a stop to them.")_

It breaks her heart.

She sees the loneliness in his eyes, the heartbreak of leaving Amy. She sees all the love he had for her; _all_ of it. And he's here because he wants to escape. He doesn't want to deal with the fact he's had to leave someone again. That he has just seen his friend for maybe the last and final time. And she wants to indulge him; really, she does. But she knows she can't. _("Not today, sweetie. You should rest.")_ So she takes him back to her place—her little apartment with no decorations and the advanced technology of the fifty-second century.

He passes out on her couch. His cheeks are wet with the tears he wouldn't allow himself to shed sober. It's a sad sight, her Doctor stretched out across her spotless white couch, his face a picture of misery. She leans down beside him, strokes his hair, places a kiss on his cheek and wipes away the remnants of his tears. After a long while of sitting with him, stroking his arm, touching him and wishing she could ease his pain, she falls asleep.

When she wakes, a dozen purple tryqueins sit on her table. They're beautiful, but not her favourite. Though, she supposes, this young Doctor wouldn't know her favourite flower is far simpler—an orchid. Next to the vase, there's an index card. She picks it up and reads what the Doctor has scribbled in his awful handwriting.

_Sorry_.

He's sorry, even though there's nothing to even be sorry for. What a silly, silly man.

River's life goes on, but she thinks of him every day.

She always thinks of him.

The next time she sees him, he hops out of his TARDIS and kisses her on the cheek. He's worked up about something and is excited beyond words. He drags her into the TARDIS where the Ponds stand, their hands intertwined. She smiles and greets them as usual but she notices what the Doctor does not. Rory and Amy—they're different now and so in _love_. She can see it in their eyes and she just _knows_ they will be leaving the Doctor. And he will turn up on her doorstep heartbroken and drunk. Still, she tries to ignore the memory and keep the Doctor happy for a little while longer.

They visit a planet called Yunifzan and the people there have been struck by this horrible man-spider who turns out to have just been stranded on the planet, starved and alone. The Doctor helps him, takes him home and the day has a happy ending for once. While he is preoccupied, she buys a bottle of wine and sets it on the dresser in his room. She knows he only ever ventures there when he feels wretched.

_You know where to find me, sweetie_.

She attaches her message to the bottle and leaves the room, heavy hearted. On her way out, she snags the Doctor by his arm and pulls him aside. She smiles and touches his cheek fondly. "It'll be alright," she tells him.

He frowns at her. "What are you going on about River?"

She smiles sadly. "Spoilers," she murmurs, reaches up towards him, and kisses him lightly on his cheek. She taps him gently on his shoulder and turns to go, leaving behind a red faced and confused Doctor.

He will be seeing her soon.

_Fin_

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><p><strong>Notes<strong>: Beta'd by **MuslimBarbie**, as always.

Review?


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